Office of the Regent,

Blenheim Palace, Westminster,

Britannia, Britannic Coalition,

The Periphery,

28th September 3068

"...the survivors from the Lancers' III Bravo unit were forced to withdraw south of the river, leaving the capital open to enemy attack. However, it seems the unknown raiders were content to stage a hit and run strike, withdrawing to their landing zone and lifting off from Wellington, just hours later. The Lancers suffered heavy losses in the brief but brutal confrontation, with III Bravo losing two thirds of their battlemechs, along sadly, with most of their pilots. In a brief statement to the press, from the Division's hastily-relocated headquarters, commander Precentor Julian Etherington disclosed that III Alpha and III Gamma are being redeployed to shore up the defences around the capital, Beaulieu, in anticipation of further attacks".

The newscaster shuffled her notes, before looking into the camera again. "In other news today..."

She was cut off as William raised a hand and thumbed the remote control's power switch, shutting off the holoviewer. He stared at his hand and was surprised to see it shaking. Then again, he had never felt the kind of fury he was experiencing now. 'Pendergrass must've felt like this while his factory was under attack', he thought. 'The bastards have struck twice now…once on Alliance soil and now at us'.

"Never again if I have anything to do with it", he vowed solemnly in the privacy of his empty office.

He strode over to his desk, activated the built-in com unit and punched in the direct code for Precentor James Brassington. He waited impatiently for the Coalition's Chief of Naval Operations to respond. The man had a reputation as something of a maverick who had little time for politicians and who stood on ceremony for nobody.

"Good morning Will, what can I do you for?" he asked with schoolboy humour, when he finally answered.

Sandringham decided to overlook the Precentor's lack of etiquette on this occasion, but he made a mental note to have a word with the man later. "James, I take it you've seen the news?"

"The attack on Wellington? Yes, quite a nasty business that. Are we any closer to finding out who these raiders are yet?"

"The short answer is, no. In the meantime I want every ship we have patrolling our border worlds with the Alliance. We don't have enough troops to garrison every world. Our only other option is to stop them getting planet-side in the first place. I want all inbound vessels, not on recognised schedules, stopped and boarded. No one gets through until their ID is confirmed and their reason for being in Coalition space is verified. You have my authority to use all means necessary to stop any vessels that fail to comply".

Brassington's face was a picture of shock. "Sir, with all due respect, we don't have the resources for a mission like that. With the Indefatigable away, the Navy has only eleven warships, three of which are out of service for re-fit..."

William felt his earlier anger returning. "I don't want excuses James! The security of the Coalition is at stake here. Redeploy all our active units to our most vulnerable worlds and do whatever it takes to get those ships in for refit, back out on picket duty...or I will find someone who can!"

He jammed his finger down on the button to cut the connection and sat down heavily in his chair. 'God, did I really just say that? I must've sounded like some kind of dictator'. The thought made him smile ruefully. It didn't last long. There were too many things to do.

He made a call to SIS headquarters to find out how their investigation was going. The news from Director Tabitha Grainger did nothing to cheer him up. They had evidence of all kinds and any number of leads. The problem was they all conflicted with one another. There were so many possibilities, there was no telling when, or even if they would ever, have a clear picture of the chain of events.

His next call was to Pendergrass, using the number of the personal com unit he'd given the entrepreneur. Moments later, his face appeared on screen. "Regent Sandringham...is something wrong?" Although he looked better for having got some rest, he still had that haunted expression.

"Its okay, this is a private call - please call me William. I just wanted to update you on the situation...not that there's much to say. Our intelligence services have plenty to work on...too much in fact. Looks like it'll take them some time to make any sense of it all".

Joseph's expression became even more downcast, so William thought it was time to spring the surprise.

"Listen, I know you're keen to find a new base of operations and get to work again. The Treasury and the Minister for Commerce have been discussing your situation and they agree it would be mutually beneficial to help get Pendercorp get up and running again. They tell me we have some prime industrial premises at sites on St Helens and Halifax, just waiting for new owners. They're well away from the Alliance border so they're unlikely to be attacked. On top of that, they're throwing in a pretty generous start-up loan, as part of your relocation package. You should be hearing from the planetary governors soon…they'll arrange tours, so you can take a look around and get a feel for the locations".

Pendergrass looked astonished. His face stared back at William from the com unit's viewscreen with a slightly glazed expression. The Regent could see the businessman was running through all the things that restarting his business would entail, in his head.

Sandringham smiled, "No need to thank me just yet. Have a look around and take some time to think it over". His eyes suddenly widened. "Just to sweeten the deal, the Treasury is even willing to negotiate repayment terms, or..." William winked at the screen, "You could offer the BCAF Quartermaster's Office a nice discount on future purchases".

Joseph blinked, clearly overwhelmed at this news. "Uh...thank you. That's an extremely generous offer. I'm sure there won't be any objections, but I'll need to talk it over with my people, to let them know what to expect".

"Oh, speaking of which, we've made temporary arrangements to accommodate your staff at an unoccupied TA base, just outside Westminster. I'm told the facilities are basic, but comfortable. I hope they'll be acceptable until you're ready to relocate".

Pendergrass smiled weakly, as he tried to assimilate the information. "Once again, I'm deeply grateful for your help. I just need some time to brief my employees and figure out how we're going to make this work. Can I get back to your people in a couple of days?"

"Sure, take your time. My PA will send you the contact details of everyone you'll be working with. Speak to you later..."

Sandringham cut the link and reluctantly got back to the business of reading over the latest reports from Wellington governor, Andrew Sutherland and the commander of the Wellington Lancers, Precentor Julian Etherington. They made for painful reading. By some minor miracle there had been very few civilian casualties, although the five deaths and eleven seriously injured were bad enough. Much worse, was the price paid by the Lancers, in their defence of the capital. They had lost fully a third of their nominal combat strength, following the two attacks and Etherington was requesting reinforcements, in anticipation of further raids. Every one of those losses felt like a needle stabbing his heart. Worse, he wasn't sure what reinforcements could be sent, given that any world along the Coalition's Spinward border might be the next target.

Detailed though the reports were, they only told him what had happened…not how, or why, or who might be behind the attacks. After a moment's though, he fired up his desk computer and logged on to the Coalition Interplanetary Information Resource Network, more commonly known as CIRNET, to find out what the news networks and bloggers were saying about the Wellington attacks. Although the State's media services, like its interplanetary transport and other infrastructure, were still very much under development, information had a way of turning up in the public domain, long before the government made any official statements.

It was a sad fact that freelance journalists and amateur bloggers could often turn up more information than the government's own intelligence agencies. Much of it might be wild speculation or even hopelessly inaccurate, but every now and then they could surprise you with some genuinely important information. With a rare couple of hours until his next appointment, he settled back in his chair as he set to the task of finding genuinely useful nuggets among the pages of recycled reportage, conspiracy theories and utter dross.